Orchid House (15 page)

He paused, and she detected that playful smile even as he spoke solemnly. “Unfortunately, your grandfather's body took a little detour in returning to the hacienda.”

“What does that mean?”

“They shipped him to Thailand by mistake.” Markus chuckled. “I do hope he isn't late for his wake and funeral.”

Julia's mouth dropped. “Uh, you are taking this rather lightly, especially for my lawyer.”

“Yes, I know. But I have heard stories of your grandfather my entire life, and these past years he and I have spoken on the phone many times. So to hear that even now the great Captain Morrison causes a stir, coming late for his own funeral . . . I must admit, I find it funny.”

Julia couldn't help but laugh with him; then she shook her head. “You're right. Grandpa Morrison was always late. Guess nothing has changed.”

“Don't be too concerned. We will work hard to get him here. His wake and funeral will be quite an event.”

“You know, I think the hacienda is more a part of you than me.”

Markus thought for a moment. “I disagree. We don't always realize what is ours until finally we find it.” Then he smiled again and quickly added, “Those wise words won't cost you my usual lawyer fee.”

“I appreciate that,” Julia said, as they turned again to lean on the railing and gaze out over the hacienda. Through the trees, they could see miles and miles of farmland stretching out toward the distant slope of hills and a sharply protruding mountain.

“You know, this land holds a long and complex history.”

“I'm discovering that.” Julia turned slightly as Markus spoke.

“After World War II, under your grandparents' direction, the hacienda was rebuilt from its near destruction by the Japanese occupation. Sugarcane, milling, and coconut farming alone brought wealth and political influence to the hacienda, not counting the diverse aquatic and agricultural endeavors the families were involved in.” He paused. “Did you know the hacienda clan was united under Don Miguel and Captain Morrison?”

“The One-Armed Spaniard? I thought he lived in the eigh-teenth century!”

“Oh, you've heard that story already. But no, not that Don Miguel. Your grandmother's brother was also Don Miguel. After the war, your grandfather remained here to rebuild a nearly destroyed country. I think your grandmother was part of the reason as well.”

“I know very little of that time in my grandfather's life,” she said.

“Julia, he was a great man, and that became a golden time. The annual fiesta here was a provincial event. The workers were happy and well fed, and their children were going to school. The plunder of the Japanese was a nightmare of the past as the workers and their families thrived and grew happy and content.”

Julia pictured this very house and the courtyard as it must have been. The stucco sides of the house and walled courtyards clean and vibrant instead of faded and in disrepair. The overgrown gardens neatly trimmed; the tables laden with expensive china and silver utensils. The fiestas full of celebration and food. Dancing and laughter, lives not just soothed but restored. It all came to life in her imagination.

“Julia, the people of Hacienda Esperanza are some of the best in the world. For four years, my family lived in one of the staff houses when it was dangerous for my father to live in Manila. You will find every kind of drama played out here, some of them quite comical at times. Have you met everyone?”

“Well, if the welcoming committee is everyone, then sort of.”

“I will enjoy giving insight into the backgrounds of your relatives. One of the aunties is always trying to lose weight and says a blood disease will not let her. Mang Berto will keep you trapped in his garage for an entire day showing you his vehicles. And Amang Tenio, the leader of Barangay Mahinahon . . . well, we will introduce you as slowly as possible, so as not to overwhelm.”

He turned, and the brush of his arm sent a shiver throughout her. Why did she feel such an attraction to this man? It was his knowledge of the hacienda and its people, Julia assured herself, that she found so captivating. She determined to keep up her guard, keep this friendly and professional, and then say good-bye with no regrets after her grandfather's funeral. After all, what would be the point of an attraction to a man who lived nearly around the world?

“Are you okay, Julia?” Markus asked with concern.

“Why?”

“You appear at war in your mind.”

“Just thinking about all of this.”

“Yes, this land is enchanting. But hard to comprehend as well.”

Surely it was the exotic locale. Although Markus did have a certain charisma. People were probably always drawn to him, and she could only imagine his presence in a courtroom. But not to be married at his age—about thirty-five, was her guess—he was probably a man with many issues.

Julia noticed movement in the jungle and pointed to a few more children coming shyly toward the house. They pushed one another onward to be in front. “Is that a girl with them?”

“Yes, and I think she's found a mentor in you. Most girls from the Barangay Mahinahon would never wear a ponytail unless they were more of the girly sort. She's with the boys, which means she's one tough little lady. So I wager she's acting more like a girl for you to notice her.”

The little girl had used a twig or some part of a plant as the rubber band—it was hard to tell from that distance. It kept falling out and she'd stop to tie it again.

“Do these children live on the hacienda?”

“Not exactly. They are the children of Barangay Mahinahon—
Barangay
means village. It's located some kilometers from here, but very much part of Hacienda Esperanza. There is much to explain to you, Julia.”

Julia felt impatient. Why did everyone keep saying that? She wanted to say, “So tell me!,” but Markus excused himself, saying, “I'll be right back.”

He hurried down the stairs and greeted the children partway across the lawn. Once again the younger children surrounded him and tugged at his arm. He slipped something into their hands, and they smiled and ran off again.

The older, more serious boy had come as well and talked with Markus a little longer. Then he turned toward the jungle too. The gun on his shoulder appeared alarmingly real.

The girl waved up at Julia then, took something from Markus, and raced off.

When Markus returned he was holding an odd-looking drink. “Lola Gloria spotted me downstairs and said she'd make you some if you like it.” He took a sip and declared it perfect, then offered a sip to Julia.

“No, thanks.”

“Come on, I don't have too many germs.”

“I don't know that.”

“You must try the native cuisines.”

“You're one pushy lawyer, mister,” Julia said, taking the glass.

“I'm glad you recognize that early on.”

“It is . . . good. I think. Sort of sweet, but sort of not.”

“Give it time. Buko-pandan is a concoction of pasteurized coconut juice mixed with milk and pandan leaves. You'll get used to it, and then hooked.”

“I would've liked that information before trying it,” Julia said, sticking out her tongue. “So okay, what are you giving the children down there?”

“It's a secret.”

“Not much of one. At least, all of the children are apparently in on it. So if I tug at your sleeve or follow at your heels, you'll tell me?”

“You are quick for an American woman.”

“Excuse me?” Julia crossed her arms in protest.

He held up his hands with a devilish smile. “Kidding, kidding. Actually, children usually don't like me, so I bribe them with candies I get in Manila. Then I also look good to the ladies. What woman can resist a guy who's always surrounded by a flock of adoring children?”

“Oh, and this works for you, does it?”

“I don't know. I guess I should be asking you that.”

“What do these other women say?”

“Oh, hmm . . . well, actually, no others have seen me at the hacienda. So, how's it working on you?”

They both laughed, and then grew silent. But to Julia's surprise, the silence was of a most comfortable sort. It even bordered on peaceful.

NINE

Y
ou were like this when Ricky died.” Timeteo sat in the chair beside him. The table and chairs stood in the shadow of a tree on the edge of a meadow.

Manalo had his eyes on the map, but he saw nothing. He raised his head slowly on hearing his brother's name. “I was like what?”

“Quiet. Withdrawn.”

Manalo nodded. “Yes, I suppose I was. And am.”

“You will see them again. I think Comrade Pilo even now arranges it. It would be to cruel to give you leave to see your family and then keep you from them for a long while.”

“It's not just that.” Manalo's eyes focused on the map of the great island of Luzon. His country was made of many islands and provinces within those islands. Here, on a single map, all he held dear was located. He could point to the place that he was, and the place she was supposed to be. Somewhere within the borders of land and sea, Malaya and his children were thinking, sleeping . . . living a life without him.

“What else troubles you?”

Manalo rubbed his forehead where a pounding had formed. “The incompetence. It will be our downfall. If the factions would gather, if we would follow our leaders, we would rise strong. What is it about our people that makes us so lazy and inept? Don't they see what is best for them? The Communists were once much more unified. But just when I start thinking we are getting it together, another incompetent act occurs.”

Timeteo looked at his hands. “They didn't follow the instructions. The body was not returned to the village.”

Manalo nodded, but his anger toward Comrade Pilo rose up unbidden. “It is as I should now expect.”

“So it seems. The body will never be found. The boy's mother will always hold an ounce of wonder, but those of the Barangay will know.”

“The boy deserved to be buried in a proper manner. It is a bad omen.” Manalo spoke without thinking and was surprised when Timeteo nodded his head and agreed.

“A very bad omen.”

So his old friend couldn't rid himself of his childhood either, eh?

“Timeteo, why are you here?”

He frowned. “They brought us here?”

“No, I mean, why did you first join?”

Timeteo leaned back and pulled out a cigarette, handing one to Manalo. “Your brother did this for glory and adventure. And later because of a hatred he could not rid himself of except in the few moments of battle. You came to this because you believed it and wanted a country that was better than it had ever been. A strong Philippines.”

Manalo lit his cigarette and inhaled slowly, remembering the idealistic young man he'd once been. “And yet, no matter the motive, my brother and I have accomplished the same. Nothing.”

“I came to this,” Timeteo said, ignoring him, “because I could not live without my two best friends. And I did not want to be a poor farmer with a hungry family, like my father before me. I guess we all have fought for a better life. A country where the average man is not in constant peril of becoming a beggar or under the rule of whatever leader rises up. And for more than twenty years now, we have been these men. We lost Ricky and many other good men. What more do you wish me to say about it?”

“The truth.”

Timeteo chuckled, and a whiff of smoke blew around him. “I think the truth you want me to say is that we've fought for nothing. That Marcos can be thrown down, but our country is as bad off as ever and our cause nearly as lost as when we first began. And that no wonder some men put guns in their mouths.”

Manalo was silent.

“Those are truths. I have many regrets. Some things I
more
than regret . . . I do not know how to forgive myself for them. But there are things to be grateful for as well. To serve with your brother, and even more so with you . . . I have had decades of a strong and loyal brotherhood that few men experience. And that is something to be grateful for.”

They finished their cigarettes in silence. Timeteo pulled out a flask from inside his jacket pocket and offered it to Manalo, who took a swig and passed it back.

“Manalo.”

The grave tone in Timeteo's voice sent a chill through him. “What?”

His friend was silent for a moment, and then said quickly, “I believe in God.”

Manalo stared at Timeteo, who stared back as if waiting for a discipline. Then he laughed until he nearly fell from the chair.

“What? Why are you laughing?” his old friend asked with dismay.

“You believe in God. You?”

“In some ways, I always have. But now more than ever. As in, I
believe
.”

The emphasis on
believe
made Manalo laugh harder.

Emil, who had wrung the necks of several chickens and was now plucking them, stopped in his work to smile their direction. Manalo realized they must be careful, even among their ranks, about confessing such a thing.